


Breathe

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based On Real Science, M/M, casefic, fluffy danger, funny fluff, non explicit sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:31:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: Sherlock makes a deduction. John acts accordingly and everyone has a cow when everything goes pear shaped. Short casefic, danger and real love ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The science that Sherlock bases his deduction on is actually true. Google it.

Sherlock forgot to breathe. Flat on his back, John’s strong body aggressively pressing him into the ground. Protecting Sherlock, covering him. All of him. Sherlock could define and describe every millimeter of body contract. Every metric linear unit of John’s body. It was enlightening and devastating at the same time. John had his gun in his right hand. Scanning in the direction that the sniper had fired from.

“Don’t move, Sherlock.” John commands.

Sherlock can feel John’s breath moving in and out. Feel his heart hammering with adrenaline. Smell the slight increase in testosterone. The quickening of his organs as they filled with John’s precious blood. What a revelation, what an inspiring awakening. It is in that moment Sherlock Holmes, master detective, self diagnosed sociopath and rank amateur human being, knew. He knew that John Hamish Watson had become his drug of choice. That John was and would always be the very next breath that he would take. That in this world and every adjacent world, John would be the only person that mattered in every eternity that existed.

Looking at John, Sherlock could tell his dark blue eyes held constellations. His warm breath fogged the cold night air. Quick eyes scanned for telltale signs of the shooter.

Sherlock felt his arousal quickening. Eyes wide, he stared open mouthed at John. As John felt his arousal too. 

Squinting in the moonlight. Eyes bright and filled with humor. John sidles a few centimeters up Sherlock’s torso. 

Sherlock closes his eyes and bites his luxurious lower lip.

“Never knew snipers were so erotic or are you just happy to have me on top?” John whispers. 

Sherlock lets out a suppressed giggle. Then gasped as he feels John’s arousal seeking out his. 

“You two all right?” Lestrade’s husky, concerned voice comes from the safety of the well positioned Panda cars. 

John lowers his head next to Sherlock’s. Their faces are side by side. 

“Leave it to Greg to intrude upon a real ‘moment’.” John says comically. “Do you think you can jump up and run for cover with me?” John asks as their bodies tell them that jumping and running may not be an option at the moment.

“Where you lead, I will always follow.” Sherlock admits. Their bodies have spoken with a language that neither can deny.

“Now!” John shouts. Leaping up and yanking Sherlock with him. With great strides they move towards the safety of the Panda cars. 

Once safe, John turns again to the area north of them. Several taller buildings could well hold their sniper.

Sherlock is discretely trying to adjust himself. 

John, crouched behind the Panda car, shifts too. 

“You two okay?” Lestrade questions. “This guy is a piece of work.”

“Actually, the shooter is a woman.” Sherlock advises everyone. 

“How? No, I don’t want to know.” Lestrade’s mobile pings. “Yeah, we still can’t move.” He admonishes the person on the other end of the mobile. 

“How do you know that the shooter is a woman?” John isn’t as tetchy about asking as Lestrade. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes as he leans against the auto and slowly allows himself to slide down to sit on the ground. 

“The ‘No-sense Sniper’ as she has been dubbed by the rather outlandish press, has been killing people seemingly at random. Men who have absolutely no connection to one another; but I know that isn’t true.”

“Explain.” John says as takes his place next to Sherlock.

“All the men have been rather cruelly dispatched. So a deep indiscriminate hatred of males in general. The one thing all these males have in common is a shade of crimson that each was wearing.”

“You have got to be kidding.” Lestrade huffs.

“Men have a genetic predisposition due to their hunter necessities to follow and determine viability of game. Whereas women being the gathers of plant substances are quite adept at determining the varying shades of all colors. Ergo, this specific female person due to some trauma in her past has developed a homicidal tendency toward any male wearing variations of the color crimson. Her press name should be more aptly the ‘Shades of Crimson Sniper.” 

Sherlock adopts an air of absolute correctness as he basks in the looks of absolute disbelief in his fellow mates in hiding behind the Panda cars.

“So if I’m not wearing the proper shade of crimson, she won’t be interested in killing me?” John asks.

“Yes.” Sherlock replies as he watches John stand and dash out in the direction of the sniper.

“JOHN! NO JOHN!” Sherlock screams as he watches John vanish into the gathering gloom. The crawl of fog filling the streets obliterates John’s passage.

Sherlock raises to follow John, when Lestrade body tackles him to the ground.

“Oh no you don’t. One madman running into danger is all I can stomach right now.”

From afar the sound of the sniper rife discharging fills the silence. Sherlock, trapped beneath Lestrade, struggles even harder. There is panic in his eyes. He is wild, insane and sick with worry about John.

Lestrade’s mobile rings and he sits on Sherlock to make sure the twirp stays put. Looking at the mobile screen, he flicks it to answer. “Yeah, what’s going on?” He asks with a big grin on his face.

From the device John’s voice comes across loud and clear. “A little help here, please.”

Sherlock snatches Lestrade’s mobile so fast, its like a magic trick.

“John. John, you absolute idiot. You come down here right NOW.” Sherlock shouts into the mobile. 

“I’m busy restraining your Shades of Crimson Sniper at the moment. So maybe have the constabulary raise up and come to the sixth floor of the nearest building to give me some assistance. That would be nice.”

(-_-)

Sherlock gets out of the cab and pays the cabbie as John stands unlocking the door to 221B. John bounds up the stairs and deposits his coat on the hook behind the door before Sherlock can reach him. 

Sherlock, a looming wall of seething anger is right behind him and flings John onto the couch. Then traps him beneath his longer and anger fueled, strong body.

“I get that you’re pissed.” John comments. “I was never in danger. You said it yourself. She wouldn’t have hurt me. I didn’t have any shade of crimson on.”

Sherlock presses John deeply into the couch and kisses him with a furious passion.

As Sherlock comes up for air. John breathes “So not really pissed, maybe pissed slash savagely aroused.”

“If you ever, ever do that again. I will...”

John won’t let him say what he will ever do. He kisses Sherlock tenderly, seductively, serenely. Like the lover Sherlock has never had. Like the only man in the whole of the known universe capable of kissing Sherlock with such acceptance, constancy, and courage. 

Tears form at the edges of Sherlock’s eyes. “I can not lose you. Not ever. Do you hear me. I can not.”

John kisses his tears away. So close. They are so close. John can feel the breath filling Sherlock’s lungs; that all too human heart beating in unison with John’s. 

Sherlock forgets to breathe as he lowers himself onto John.

John’s smile is significantly more radiant than any orbiting sun. John’s love is all Sherlock will ever need going forward. Breathing is definitely not boring when John Watson is in your arms.


	2. An Alternate Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's home before John. What he does to past time. The confiscation of scones and the alternate breath that us mere mortals will never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone loved this one shot so much. I thought I'd add a teensy bit more.

Sherlock is home. It has been one of the more demanding days of recent history. He is looking forward to a hot shower and even hotter sex. Disrobing he walks into the loo.

Mobile in hand, he texts John. [Where are you? SH]

[Making a bee-line home. Hope you are up for a highly engaging evening? ETA 20 minutes. J]

Sherlock puts on a devilishly wicked smile, does a live feed of a certain part of his body waving hi to John and shoots it to him.

[You are an evil, evil man. J]

[I’ve been advised on many occasions that is actually a good thing. I believe it was actually your statements to be exact. SH]

Shower completed. Billows of steam escape the loo; insinuating into the rest of the flat. Sherlock enters the bedroom drying off. Draping a clean dry towel around his slender torso. 

Invigorated by the refreshing waters, Sherlock finds himself listening to the music coming from his Mind Palace. A small smile glitters up into his eyes as he begins dancing from room to room. Twirling with grace and elegance, his fluid movements would make any ballet dancer envious. Lifting the Union Jack pillow from John’s chair, he makes it his dance partner. Holding it close and swinging it out into the expanse of the flat. 

Music abating, he brings the pillow in close and whispers “John’s coming!” Thrilling happiness explodes in his heart as he sets the pillow down and enters the kitchen to make some tea. Opening the menu drawer, he rummages around looking for that new place not too far away that delivers. Yes!

Taking the menu back to the sitting room he twiddles his mobile in the air and speed dials the restaurant. Ordering John’s favorite and a little something for himself. Glaring at the clock, still fifteen minutes till John is home. He can hear Mrs. Hudson down stairs, then the gentle whiff of freshly baked goods floats up the stairs and into his nasal cavities. 

“Shite, I’m hungry.” Tightening his towel, he walks down the stairs and nudges open the already open door. “Mrs. Hudson, I do believe I need to confiscate at least four of your scones. John will be home soon, but not soon enough. I feel the need to feed.” Sherlock smiles his most adorable little boy lost smile.

Mrs. Hudson turns from her kitchen table with a little bread basket that has hot scones nestled in the clean folds of the linens in said basket.

“Sherlock, shouldn’t you be getting ready for John?” She winks at him as she places the basket in his willing hands.

“I am quite ready for him.” Sherlock replies as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “There should be take away coming any minute now. I’m off to pour our tea.”

“Off with you then.” Mrs. Hudson pats his behind as he swishes past. Then turns to the ‘kitty’ box next to her door. John makes sure there is ample money in the box at all times so that Mrs. Hudson can pay for incoming food stuffs. As well as replace any items that she has to purchase to feed Sherlock up. His vast sweet tooth knows no satiation. Which is why there is the open door and the small fan to push the constant aromas up the stairs. She and John have got Sherlock’s sweet tooth number.

Sherlock attempts to restrain himself. Pours their tea, bringing the little basket and tea into the drawing room. The sensory overload is soon to reach critical mass as Sherlock succumbs to the devastation that is one of Mrs. Hudson’s blueberry, blackberry scones. Biting into one, he closes his eyes and attempts to not have a truly existential oral experience.

“Damn that’s good.” He mutters between chews.

“That had better be you talking about me.” John intercedes as he enters with the take away. “I caught the food on the way in. Lucky me. Are those some of Mrs. H’s scones?”

“John I don’t know how she does it. They taste so phenomenal. Do you think she’s an alien come to take over our gustatory cells and rule the world?” 

“Since when do you have flights of fantasy? I’ll plate up this.” He held up the box of boxes. “We can stuff ourselves. I’m famished.”

(-_-)

The take away, taken. The scones are sgone and two men are happily horny.

“I’m going to have to take a rain check on the evenings festivities. I’m too bloated with food to transport to the bed.” Sherlock sighs with a poor bedraggled look upon his handsome face. 

“I don’t believe that will be a problem.” John says as he kicks off his shoes and comes at Sherlock with a lusty look in his eyes.

“John, John what the hell are you doing?” As John scoops Sherlock up in a very impressive bridal carry. “You shouldn’t be able to do this.” Sherlock gets that goofy little smile on his face that looks like the Grinch’s. 

John laughs and almost drops him, but makes it to their bed; then does drop him onto its soft surface. 

Grabbing the edge of his towel, like the magician who pulls the table cloth from underneath the dishes that sit on top of it. John yanks the towel away to reveal the lithe, lean body that he adores. 

“Well, now that I’m here. Would you do the honors?” Sherlock leans forward and disrobes John with the speed and accuracy of a man in dire need of John’s sexual favors.

Bare to the bone, John begins to crawl over Sherlock’s body. “It would be my and your absolute pleasure to perform any honorarium that you desire.” 

Sherlock breathes in John’s intoxicating scent. “Mere mortals will never know what it is to be loved by John Watson.”


End file.
